


Breakfast

by Syrum



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, And there is sex involved, Bathroom Sex, Food Kink, Greg is a good influence, M/M, Porn With Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Soft Smut Sunday, They go out for breakfast, what else can i tag this with
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 17:25:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14898843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrum/pseuds/Syrum
Summary: A sleepless night, an hour for breakfast together in a restaurant, a condom and a tiled bathroom wall.Or; ticking sex in a public toilet off the Holmes-Lestrade bucket list.





	Breakfast

The place was certainly not Mycroft’s  _ first _ choice of breakfasting establishment; garish red sign perched atop the single-story building, the lettering designed in such a fashion that it may once have been handwritten, perched above a line of red-and-green text which declared Frankie and Benny’s to be a  _ New York Italian Restaurant and Bar _ .

Mycroft doubted that  _ anything _ within the chain restaurant could be traced back to either New York  _ or _ Italy.

A handful of cars dotted around the sparse car park and the pale early morning sun glinted off the restaurant windows.  It looked clean enough from the outside he supposed, and it was the only establishment in the vicinity which was open quite so early.  He might have suggested they drive a little further afield to locate somewhere more  _ suitable _ , yet Greg was going to be needed back at the crime scene within the hour; it was something of a miracle that he had been allowed to ‘borrow’ his boyfriend from it at all, and he had a sneaking suspicion that the Donovan woman was behind it.  He made a mental note to send her flowers, later.

Greg hadn’t been home that night; a string of murders between Rainham and Barking had left the police puzzled from the time the first had been reported the previous afternoon up to the present.  It was only when the man continually neglected to answer his phone that Mycroft had come looking; it would not be the  _ first _ time Greg had gotten himself in over his head with something, and he did worry about the man he loved being out on active duty.

The restaurant was empty, save for a couple of women chatting quietly at one of the tables in the middle -  _ mother and daughter, they had argued, breakfast was a way of mending bridges and was working well.  The daughter was pregnant, the mother did not yet know _ \- , and an older gentleman reading a newspaper alone at the back with only a mug upon his table -  _ widowed some years ago, wedding ring only recently removed, dislikes taking breakfast alone, still misses his wife terribly _ .  The place was certainly nothing like the American-style diner Greg had introduced him to a month into their relationship, which they still frequented for breakfast on a semi-regular basis.

“Something interesting?”  Greg murmured over his shoulder, just loud enough for Mycroft to catch, and he couldn’t help the tug at the corner of his lips in amusement.

“Nothing worth sharing, particularly.”  And Greg never would tell him how he always seemed to know when Mycroft was mentally profiling someone.  He had a tell, that much was certain, but no amount of coercion would persuade Greg to talk.

“Spoil sport.”  The approaching waitress caught their attention, thin lips smiling in a greeting which did not reach her eyes, an expression practised over thousands of customers over too many years.

“Table for two?”  Polish, from her accent, and in her middle forties thought she looked older.   _ A difficult few years, it hadn’t always been like that.  Divorced, more than one adult children, the father is no longer around.  One child at least still at home, she supports them, long hours and thankless.  Smoker. Scuffs on shoes and splashback on tights from pushing something - wheelchair? _  “Follow me, please.”  Mycroft was dragged from his musing by the waitress, who turned on her heel, expecting them to follow suit.

“How about this time?”  The woman wasn’t paying attention, leading them towards a booth nearer to the kitchen, making her own job easier.  Greg stifled a yawn as he followed her, half a step in front of Mycroft.

“Perhaps.”  Mycroft agreed, his hand finding its way to Greg’s lower back, pleased when Greg leaned back into it and let the subject drop for the moment.

They took their time in ordering breakfast, Greg pouring over the menu with the excited twinkle of a teenager on their birthday, even though they both knew what he would end up having, a fresh mug of black coffee at his elbow.  Mycroft let himself lean back in the booth, plain white teacup clasped between both hands as he enjoyed simply watching for the moment. Exhausted, overworked and hungry, Greg was still the most gorgeous person Mycroft had ever met.

He voiced his thoughts aloud, delighted by the flush that coloured Greg’s cheeks, the way he dipped his head in a pleased sort of embarrassment that was only ever meant for Mycroft’s eyes.  Greg’s face always lit up when he smiled, particularly when those smiles were aimed his way, setting butterflies loose within his stomach no matter how many times he witnessed the curve of lips and the dimpling of cheeks.

Mycroft ordered the ‘smashed’ avocado with poached eggs, deciding to forgo the bacon.  Greg went with his usual; American style buttermilk pancakes, bacon, maple syrup and a side of mixed berries.  Thankfully, he neglected to include the fried chicken in his order; Mycroft never could get his head around that one.

“How long do you believe this might take to get to the bottom of?”  The waitress had vanished with their menus and their order, disappearing into the kitchen and not reappearing for several long minutes.  Mycroft watched Greg over the rim of his cup, simply basking in the other man’s presence, the quiet of the restaurant only marred by the chattering of the patrons across the room and the low music playing overhead.

“If I leave it to my lot, about a week.”  Greg snorted, attention flicking to the lone man at the back of the diner as he stood and walked out, the money for his drink left upon the table in the form of a five pound note.  “I’ll call Sherlock once we’re done here, have it wrapped up by lunch time.”

“My brother  _ is _ exceedingly useful in that respect.”  Mycroft agreed, somewhat begrudgingly, tampering down the slight and very much unnecessary pang of jealousy.  Greg knew better than to ask for Mycroft’s assistance; he could not actively be seen to assist in the local constabulary’s affairs, not if he wished for his and Gregory’s relationship to continue to be tolerated.  That he had already deduced the suspect was irrelevant; if Sherlock could not help then he would, but that was unlikely.

“What’re your plans for the rest of the day?”  Two plates were placed down before them, along with a pot of the requested berries and a small jug of maple syrup.  Greg took a moment to thank their waitress before turning his attention back to Mycroft, cutlery already in hand.

“I shall have to depart once I return you to your crime scene, I’m afraid I shall be tied up most of the day however and am unlikely to be home for dinner this evening.”  His tone was rueful, but Mycroft had known for some weeks that this day would be a long and tiring one. He was thankful they were at least able to have breakfast together like this; any time spent with his lover at the moment was a gift.

“Damn, and here I was hoping to tie you up later myself.”  Greg smirked, and it was Mycroft’s turn to flush, though there was little possibility of them being overheard.

“Gregory, we are in  _ public _ .”  A shoe-clad foot found its way to Mycroft’s left leg, hooking around to run up the back of his calf and down again.

“And when has that ever stopped me?”  The roguish wink was enough in itself to catch Mycroft’s interest, and he very carefully partitioned and organised away for later perusal the ideas presently emerging in his mind, lest he find himself with a rather embarrassing problem in his three thousand pound suit.

“Beast.”  He simply muttered, turning his attention back to his breakfast.  It was...passable, the eggs cooked mostly correctly and the avocado slightly over ripe.  Greg seemed to be enjoying his own; the stack of three pancakes disappeared astonishingly quickly, attesting to just how hungry the man was - and it had been the growl of his boyfriend’s empty stomach which had triggered his suggestion to locate breakfast in the first place.

Once the plate was suitably empty, Greg tipped the small pot of berries out onto it, pouring the remaining syrup over the top.  The strawberries were relatively small, as over ripe as the avocado had been, and cut into quarters. The blueberries, by contrast, looked to be about perfect and Mycroft knew that he shouldn’t be eyeing them up.  Knew, but did it anyway, because it had become something of a habit.

He wondered, briefly, if Greg’s fixation on ordering the same breakfast each time was in any way related to the knowledge that Mycroft would inevitably steal some of it from him.

“Want one?”  Greg had forgone his fork, lifting a quarter of strawberry to his mouth and sucking it from his fingers, maple syrup smeared over his lips as his eyes twinkled with mischief.

“Only if you are offering.”  Mycroft leaned forward anyway, intending to skewer one of the plump, round berries, but found himself beaten to it when Greg’s already sticky fingers lifted one to his lips.

“Open wide, beautiful.”  Raising one elegant brow in amusement, Mycroft did as requested, finding not only the blueberry but also Greg’s fingers in his mouth.

Location be damned - he was not about to pass up this opportunity.

Mycroft dislodged the berry from between Greg’s fingers, letting his tongue swipe over the pads of finger and thumb before he pulled back and swallowed the fruit down.  Another swiftly replaced it, hovering before him, and this time he allowed himself to reach up and take hold of Greg’s wrist, holding it in place as he swiped his tongue up and over the offered digits, cleaning away the sticky mess of syrup and purple juice before taking the offered fruit.

The third piece was offered between Greg’s pointer and middle finger in clear challenge, hand dripping and sticky, and Mycroft had long since stopped caring whether anyone could actually see them.  Greg’s eyes had gone dark, his breathing and pulse both having increased substantially, the air between them charged with tension. Mycroft took hold of his wrist again, took both fingers down to the third knuckle, and  _ sucked _ .

“ _ Shit _ , Myc!”  The groan which slipped free from Greg’s throat was nothing short of pornographic, though thankfully relatively quiet, lost to the music playing over the restaurant speakers.  Mycroft took his time, slowly pulling back, until Greg’s fingers were half way from his mouth, before swallowing them down again. Eyes lidded, he repeated the motion once, twice more, then finally wrapped his tongue around both digits and pulled back entirely, finishing with a kiss to the tips.

“Are you finished eating?”  He asked, keeping his voice calm, unaffected.  It earned him a low growl from his boyfriend, and Greg slid from his seat without preamble, bulging erection clearly visible within his trousers as he leaned over to speak in Mycroft’s ear.

“Bathroom,  _ now! _ ”  Greg was gone then, quick strides taking him to the signposted men’s toilets, hands in his pockets in an attempt to make his condition rather less obvious.

“Excuse me,”  Mycroft caught the attention of the waitress as she reappeared across the room, offering her a smile.  “The bill, please, for when I return from using your facilities.” She stared at him for a moment, then nodded, and he could feel her gaze following him into the rest rooms to ensure he was not about to walk out without paying.

He should have been offended, but Mycroft supposed they likely got a lot of that in this area.

The door had barely started to close when he was pulled unceremoniously into a vicious, biting kiss.  Greg’s hands found their way into his hair, down to his ass, cupping and squeezing and he was vaguely aware of the sticky syrupy mess that likely still covered said fingers.  It was all Mycroft could to do hold on and kiss back, bodies pressed together and the rub of Greg’s clothed cock against his thigh was enough to stir his own into life.

“You are a fucking  _ tease _ , Mycroft Holmes!”  Greg finally ground out, laying open-mouthed kisses across his chin and throat, as far down as he was able without unfastening Mycroft’s tie and shirt.  “The things I would do to you. I would fuck you senseless right here.” And  _ that _ got Mycroft’s attention, stirring desire in the pit of his belly travelling down to his loins, cock giving a slightly frantic twitch.

“Is there any reason you cannot?”  The noise Greg made at that was just shy of a keening whine, and Mycroft found himself manhandled into the end toilet stall, back pressed up against the cold, black tiles that covered the men’s room walls.  Greg was kissing him again, hands frantic against his suit, waistcoat and trousers unbuttoned in record time. It was a miracle, really, that he had the foresight to lock the cubicle door.

“Turn around.”  It came out guttural, a savage sound, and Mycroft shuddered as Greg bit into his throat before backing away just far enough to locate his wallet and find the condom and sachet of lube he always kept in there.  Mycroft did as he was told, hands pressed against the tiles as Greg yanked his trousers and underwear down around his ankles for him. The bunched fabric made it a little difficult to spread his legs, yet he had little time to worry about that as cold, slick fingers pressed between his ass cheeks, seeking out the hidden pucker and pressing against it.  They pushed their way in, the same two fingers he had been sucking on only minutes before, sticky and slick and sweet as they opened him up. Mycroft bit back his moan, hips stuttering back against the intrusion, silently begging for more, fucking himself on Greg’s fingers. It seemed like an eternity before a third was added, the slight burn of it delicious to his overstimulated senses.

Once he was deemed ready, too long and too soon all at once, Greg pulled his fingers free.  Mycroft felt far too empty, whimpering at the loss even as the sound of tearing foil reached his ears.  Turning his head, he watched as Greg pulled the condom free of its wrapper, his own cock jutting out, boxers and trousers pushed down only enough that they would not get in the way.  He rolled the rubber into place with practised ease, using the last of the lubricant from the packet to slick himself up before finally meeting Mycroft’s gaze, pupils blown and lips kiss swollen.

The tip of Greg’s cock pressed up against him, pushing against his stretched hole, barely breaching the right ring of muscle as Greg waited.  He was breathing hard, a quick in-and-out that brushed against short hairs at the base of Mycroft’s neck. He was waiting for Mycroft, for the approval to continue, as he always did and  _ god _ , Mycroft loved this man!  A nod of assent was all it took and Greg pushed forward, filling him with one long stroke.  A deep moan reverberated from Mycroft’s chest, and he had to bite down on one hand in an attempt to silence himself, lest anyone hear them.  The music in the bathroom was second-hand from the restaurant only a wall away, no actual speakers present to cover the sound of their activities.  If anyone were to walk in they would know immediately what they were doing, and somehow that thought made the whole situation more arousing.

“Fuck darlin’, feels so good.”  Greg took up a punishing pace, quick snaps of his hips, too far gone and the location of their tryst too public for much else.  One hand wrapped around Mycroft’s cock, pumping it in time with his thrusts, while the other pushed up under his crisp, white shirt, bunching the fabric up and out of the way.  The friction, the stretch, it was all Mycroft could do to simply remain standing as he whimpered out his pleasure into the skin of his right hand, rocking back to meet each thrust in a slap of skin against skin, ass against hips.

The sensation was incredible, but it could not last for long; one final thrust and Greg buried himself as deep as he could, rumbling shout muffled against Mycroft’s shoulder as he came, hips making aborted little motions as he rode out the last of his orgasm.  Mycroft was close himself, whimpering as the hand around his cock loosened slightly, the motions becoming more half-hearted as Greg came down from his pleasure-induced high.

“Sorry, baby, didn’t mean for it to be over that quick.” The movement of his hips had stopped, yet Greg did not pull out, panting from the exertion and heart rate elevated.  Redoubling his efforts to bring Mycroft to his own orgasm, an expert hand sliding root to tip and back down again, the motion helped by the remaining lubricant on Greg’s hand.  “Come for me, yeah? Paint that wall all pretty, let everyone know that I fucked you right here.” The slide of Greg’s hand, the rumble of Greg’s voice, the heat of his breath against his ear and press of chest against back were simply too much.  Mycroft came with a whimpering cry, the evidence of their lovemaking spattering over the black tiles in rivulets which dripped slowly down towards the floor, cock spasming in Greg’s hand as his hips jerked forwards into the firm grip which milked him dry.

It took Mycroft a good minute or so to come back to himself after that, little aftershocks shivering through him.  Chest heaving, he whimpered when Greg’s softening cock finally slipped free, condom remaining in place only through the man’s foresight in holding it on as he pulled back.  The bathroom was still thankfully deserted, too bright and stinking of sex as Greg pulled him back so that he might kiss him.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, hm?”  Tender hands ran lovingly over his hips before retreating, bringing with them a wad of toilet paper when they returned, gently wiping away the few splashes of semen which remained on Mycroft’s cock and upper thighs and the remnants of the lubricant they had used.  He would need to shower to clean himself out, but that could wait, and the prospect of spending the rest of the day with a physical remainder of precisely how he had spent his morning was not an unpleasant one. “You okay, Myc?”

“Wonderful.”  He replied, and meant it, pressing another kiss to Greg’s lips.  “Well, that’s another one you can cross off that bucket list of yours; sex in a public restroom.”  Greg simply grinned and shook his head, crouching to pull Mycroft’s underwear and trousers back up for him in the confined space.

“Sex with  _ Mycroft Holmes _ in a public restroom, you mean.”  Greg replied, backing up so that he could tuck himself away as Mycroft refastened his trousers and waistcoat, hoping he didn’t look too thoroughly fucked.  “How about you go sort our bill out, and I’ll deal with the mess we’ve made in here. Meet you out front?”

“Sounds like an excellent strategy, I will see you momentarily.”  Mycroft hummed, stealing another kiss before slipping out of the stall.  He took a moment to adjust himself in the bathroom mirror, fixing the mess that was his hair from Gregory’s hands before stepping back out into the now slightly busier restaurant.  He noted that the mother and daughter were still present, though the mother seemed on the verge of tears.  _ Happy tears _ , he noted,  _ she’s told her, then _ .

“Your bill, sir.”  The waitress accosted him before he could reach what had been their table, throwing him a knowing look.  To his credit, Mycroft managed to suppress the flush that threatened to colour his cheeks. He barely glanced at the receipt as he located his wallet, pulling two fifty pound notes free and passing them to the woman, who looked a little startled.

“For our meal, and I should also like to cover the bill of those two ladies over there.”  He nodded at the two, the mother no longer trying to suppress her tears. “Tell them, the two gentlemen who just left say ‘congratulations’.”

“This still covers far more than-”  He didn’t let her finish, waving off her concerns.

“Consider the rest gratuity, for excellent service.  Good day.” With a nod and a tight smile, he strode towards the door where Greg was calmly waiting, a knowing smile on his lips.

“You’re getting soft.”  Greg murmured, their shoulders bumping as the stepped out into the car park.

“You have that effect on me.”  He admitted, letting Greg take his hand and entwine their fingers together, wishing for a feather bed and a day to spend within it instead of the planned meeting with the ambassador of South Korea.  Still, he would take what he could get, and each step reminded him of what they had just done, more pleasant than it should have been.

“Going to tell my why you just dropped a hundred on a fifteen quid breakfast?”  The tone wasn’t accusatory, simply curious, and Mycroft supposed he could understand why; it wasn’t as though he did that sort of thing often.

“Perhaps later.”  Mycroft replied, stealing a long, slow kiss before finally letting his boyfriend get back to work.


End file.
